


Colder

by orphan_account



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony on the bus ride home</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colder

**Author's Note:**

> This is the shortest thing ever and I'm so sorry. But I had a lot of Tony feelings and only a short time to write.  
> I still don't know how I feel about the Tony and Felix relationship but I DEFINITELY love the idea of them having a close bond.

The phone sags in my pocket like a nugget of gold and sends my fingers thrumming against the windowsill. It’s all I can do to keep them from fishing deep in my pocket and digging out the clone phone again simply to feel its weight in the palm of my hand, or to check if the contacts are still there.

Anything is a comfort against the paranoia whispering in my ear that today is nothing more than an elaborate delusion concocted from my mind to help me cope with losing Sam.

It wouldn’t be the first time something good was torn from my fingertips the moment I think it’s mine. Happiness is a skittish animal sniffing your outstretched hand—if you grab for it too soon it will fit seamlessly into the darkness and leave you with only the aching trace of what could have been.

My breath presses against the frosted glass and masks my reflection. I bring my lips close to the chilled glass and exhale a white plume until the surface is covered in condensation. Outside, yellow bulbs of light appear to hover in the darkness as their bodies blend in with the night. My fingers paint a clear column from the fading condensation. A single letter forms, and another breath brings more columns, and more letters until a word begins to form: _F A M I L Y_.

What does that even mean, family? Strangers bound by obligation? My parents couldn't even fill that last part; inflated by a lifetime of ease and privelidge, they couldn't bear the thought of anyone pricking their sheltered bubble, not even from their own son. Cowards.

The phone jolts in my pocket and sends vibrations up my leg, urging me to move. My hands freeze on the windowsill as I listen dumbly to the phone's four-note tune. Finally, some part of my brain screams: _Answer it!_

I shove my hands into my pocket then and grasp the pleasant weight. My thumb brushes against the glossy screen and underlines the bolded name onscreen: Felix Dawkins.

My stomach falls somewhere near my feet. _He wants the phone back_.  

“Yeah,” I mutter, casting my  gaze out the window. Frost has begun to consume the glass once again and takes the word I sketched as well.

Outside, snow flurries zip in the black night like white insects, rubbing their ice-thin wings together. I can imagine them dive-bombing in the eyes of passerby, beautiful pests.  

“Hey,” a warm voice slides smoothly across the static. “Just making sure you didn’t get in a fist fight on the way to the bus.”

Warmth floods my tongue and threatens to turn my words into the sweetest syrup. I bite my lip and try to focus on a single snowflake as it merges into snow on the asphalt.

A chuckle squeezes out from my blotted throat and brings a small flurry of words with it.  

I can’t remember how long we talked, but I know I missed my stop by three blocks.

I walked home bowed against the chill and felt as the flakes of ice spotted the stubble on my chin and painted it blue. My lips were chipped blue by the time I entered my apartment, and frozen in a smile.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "We built a life from weakness, and joy welled up from sadness  
> Our love could not burn brighter, the furnace in our chest.  
> Will you be someone colder? Love can't be more than this"  
> \-- The Sound, Paper Route


End file.
